Just a Game
by kalinnnnn
Summary: Havelock Vetinari has one last thing to do before he dies. But why is it that Death doesn't like the idea? What could it possibly be?


This idea has been in my head for a while, but I wrote about it only recently. Please, do not be too hard on me since English isn't my native language and it's hard to write a Terry Pratchett fanfiction in another language.

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HAVELOCK VETINARI?

The black-haired man raised his head from the symphony he was reading. The lights in the room all went out.

In front of him stood a tall skeleton figure, clad in a black cloak; next to that figure was a scythe that was leaned against the wall. Blue sparkles ran along its edge, and together with Death's eyes they were the only things illuminating the room now.

The Patrician raised his hand to look at his wristwatch. It had a few additional hands, along with the small and the big one. No one except him knew what they were for.

"You are late," he said. Even in old age, neither his voice nor his hair had changed. He had a few more wrinkles around the eyes, though.

Death didn't say anything, just stood there and stared at him. Vetinari sighed, and put down the papers in his hand. "Let us proceed, then."

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO WHINE OR BEG? YOU ARE NOT GOING TO ASK FOR MERCY OR FOR MORE TIME, SINCE YOU COULDN'T DO SO MANY THINGS YOU WISHED FOR?

"I am not going to _beg._" It seemed that the sheer thought of that disgusted him. "It seems that you have had enough of beggars as it is." Death nodded. "And what I could have done, I have done." He didn't mention the word wish. He had never wished for something, but had often wondered what the entire point in it was. It rarely did the trick anyway.

Vetinari stood up and circled his desk to face Death. He tilted his head sideways, before adding, "Except one thing."

AND THAT WOULD BE?

Due to the lack of eyebrows or any skin whatsoever, Death could show his curiosity in no way other than the tone of his voice.

"I have always wanted to do it," Havelock went on. "But it wasn't possible, until today."

An idea began forming in Death's mind. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO CHALLENGE ME TO A DUEL, ARE YOU?

For a moment, there was silence. Then the Patrician answered, "Yes. Yes, I am."

There was a hissing noise from Death that might've been a sigh. AND THE REWARD WOULD BE ETERNAL LIFE FOR YOU? AND PERHAPS TONS OF GOLD IN ADDITION? There had actually been several of those cases; even a wizard had challenged him to a fight. They had all very soon learned it hadn't been wise to do such a thing.

"Oh, no. I want no reward, as testing my powers against you is a reward enough."

Death stood staring at him for a moment, and then picked up his scythe. His eyes glowed stronger.

CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON.

Vetinari frowned slightly and responded, "There has been a misunderstanding. I did not mean a duel in such a way."

OH. The scythe suddenly appeared at its previous location, seemingly without passing the distance between the skeleton hand and the wall of the cabinet again. THEN WHAT DID YOU MEAN?

"I meant," the Patrician moved to his desk and opened a drawer. He took a box out of it, one that was decorated with black and white squares all over its marble surface. Something rattled in it. "A simple game of chess."

CHESS?

"Yes." Vetinari nodded. "Chess."

WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS? He asked, still suspicious about the Patrician's intentions.

"There is no purpose." Vetinari opened the box and started arranging the figures. "There has never been. It is just a game."

Death stood looking for a while, and when Vetinari was done, he pulled chair and sat down. The Patrician did so as well, putting his hands together and staring at his adversary above the tips of his fingers for a while. Then he pulled out a sheet of paper and started reading it.

Death coughed.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

"I'm merely studying the rules of the game," Vetinari responded and waved with his hand.

There was another pause.

YOU MEAN YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PLAY?

"No, I do not."

REALLY?

"Yes. I don't expect it to be quite so difficult, though." After all, he had spent most of his life governing Ankh-Morpork; a simple game couldn't present itself as much of a challenge compared to that.

The Patrician stood unmoving for half an hour. Occasionally he nodded or mouthed something to himself while he narrowed his eyes to read the fine print. He finally lifted his gaze to stare at the board with the figures once again.

WHITE GOES FIRST, Death added helpfully.

"Do they indeed?" That question was directed to no one. Vetinari made no move, though. He was still staring at his figures.

AND THE FIRST MOVE IS OFTEN THE SIMPLEST ONE. YOU NEED ONLY MOVE ONE OF THE PAWNS.

"Oh, practice has taught me," responded Havelock, "that the first move is the one you have to be most careful about. And if you indeed want to win, no move is simple."

They both stood still and silent for a while as Vetinari was thinking. Death pondered if the Patrician was still analyzing his first move or was already on the twentieth one; but the latter seemed more likely as the game had started an hour ago.

"I trust it doesn't bother you that I'm taking too long to think, does it?" That too was only a rhetoric question. Death shook his head. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Vetinari sat up straight at last and outstretched his hand to move a pawn. Death's eyes glittered and he took out a pipe as he watched his adversary's move.

MY TURN, I GUESS. He snapped with his fingers and a pawn moved by itself. Smoke started coming out of his empty eye sockets.

Vetinari didn't stop to think this time. The game sped up.

"What happens afterwards?" Vetinari asked, curious.

AFTER WHAT?

"After the king is defeated."

THE GAME ENDS.

"Really?" Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

YES. IT IS CALLED CHECKMATE. THE KING CANNOT MOVE, BECAUSE HE IS TRAPPED.

"And not killed?"

NO.

"And what if the King finds a way to escape?" he asked.

HE CANNOT, Death said.

"He can kill the one who is threatening him," Vetinari said, as if stating the obvious. That to him was a solution enough.

NOT IF HE DOESN'T HAVE ANY PAWNS LEFT.

"Ah, I see," the Patrician nodded. It was all about pawns and power. That at least was in his field of knowledge. A small push here, a little motivation there… he didn't need anything else to ensure victory for himself. Normally he would rely on the pawns' feeling of self-control—it _was_ the easiest way to fool them into doing what he wanted.

But this was the first time when his pawns couldn't think and he was in total control, he could do with them whatever he wanted. He found it rather hard to play that way.

HOW DID YOU STAY IN CONTROL FOR SO LONG? Death asked after puffing a rather large cloud of smoke through every hole in his face.

"Sorry?" the Patrician said, staring at the board.

HOW DID YOU RULE ANKH-MORPORK FOR SO LONG? ITS PEOPLE WOULDN'T HAVE LET ANYONE ELSE TAKE TOTAL CONTROL FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE.

"I gave them what they wanted," Vetinari responded and moved a pawn. "You see, they were all pretending to want democracy. Vox populi, vox dei." He sighed. "But what they _really _wanted was a calm and untroubled life. I pretended to give them the first, letting them think they were in control." He lifted his gaze and met Death's eyes. "And I took special care they got the second. They were all happy, thinking they got power, and having no one to oppose them in their rights. They didn't complain." He looked back at his figures. "Of course, I took care that there would be few amongst them, who knew how it all worked. Vimes was the most special one. I promoted him, I gave him power. He _did _complain."

They stood silent for a while. Death moved a bishop.

WHY DID YOU DO THAT?

Vetinari rubbed his temples before responding. "I couldn't afford to concentrate all of the power to myself. I did realize the danger it would present, for me and for the city. What I did did not sit well with him, but he soon got used to it. He didn't have any choice."

Death nodded. He understood.

IT IS THE SAME REASON AS TO WHY I SPARED DEATH OF RATS. I NEEDED SOMEONE TO SHARE THE BURDEN WITH ME.

The Patrician lowered his head. "That, and it was important for the illusion of democracy to be sustained," he added. "He is still the most useful of them all."

The conversation came to a halt. For some time, it was only the figures moving on the board that broke the silence.

CHECK, Death announced.

A pawn was sacrificed to evade the danger.

"You know, it is not the King that is the most important at all times," Havelock went on again. "A ruler without his subordinates is nothing. He can't survive. If the King dies, the subordinates will simply choose one to replace him."

YES, Death nodded. IT IS A PRIMARY INSTINCT OF THE HUMAN RACE.

"Democracy is just an unsuccessful attempt to override that instinct," Vetinari said and smiled slightly. This thing was getting easier and easier. "Check."

I DON'T THINK SO.

The Patrician smiled at the countermove. It was clever, all right. It actually put him in position of…

CHECKMATE.

"Yes, I thought this would end like that," Vetinari said casually.

SORRY?

"Oh, I never intended to win." He clasped his hands together. "I did not stand a chance anyway. My goal was merely to see if my predictions would come out true."

Death's eyes sparkled. He might've smiled if he could.

I SEE.

He took out his pipe from his mouth and picked up the scythe.

Vetinari was still staring at the board. "I've been into worse situations," he mumbled to himself. He sighed and stood up.

"I was just curious…What comes next?"

Death explained to him.

The Patrician's face was emotionless.

"I thought so," he said after a while. "It is just another game."

Death took out from beneath his robes an hour-glass and put it on the desk. Just as he did so, the last speck of sand fell through the tiny aperture.

Vetinari clutched his chest with an expression of pain on his face. His body fell on the floor, lifeless.

The black figure swung the scythe.


End file.
